


Fire Support

by TaraTargaryen



Series: The Nuclear Option [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Action, Adventure, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 18:02:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6339724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaraTargaryen/pseuds/TaraTargaryen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the glow of a fairly innocuous, brilliant orange sunset, Paladin Danse meets the broody, mysterious Sole Survivor, Adeline Adams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire Support

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this piece ages ago. I wasn't planning on posting it until after Danse and Adeline finally give up, so to speak, because it contains a lot of really neat foreshadowing (am I allowed to say that about my own writing without sounding like a smug asshole?) and one of my favorite things about reading books is when you read something, and then go and read some more and things just click perfectly in to place, like the lights going on in your brain. I love that feeling of holy shit, what?! 
> 
> However after writing a few more chapters today that I probably won't post for weeks, I've decided to post it anyway. Maybe if I was capable of writing a linear story I wouldn't have to think about any of this, and I have to admit I do feel kinda bad for anyone who gets really confused reading my works. If you like it that much maybe wait until all of it comes out and read it chapter by chapter? I don't know. I just love writing the fun bits. I have to be in the mood for writing all the really boring in-between bits, but the whole piece is coming along. I even surprise myself, sometimes.

_We're not going to make it._ Knight Rhys had been cut down in the assault, and Danse found himself covering Scribe Haylen while she tried to drag him to safety. _We're going to die here. I've killed them all._ He struggled with his personal exhaustion, from so many sleepless nights trying to ignore the pounding in his head, and kept going. "I'll send you back to Hell!" He growled, feeling the blood rushing in his ears. _There are just too many this time,_ he realized. He barely had time to reload between waves. A particularly tenacious feral ghoul reaver cut him down, and he stumbled on the police station steps. A juggernaut in power armor, wielding a minigun, of all things, suddenly swept in from the northern barricade with an unusually large shepherd dog and ghouls began exploding across the courtyard, painting the walls in fetid guts. A lesser man might have stopped to watch but Danse got back to his feet and kept firing. The juggernaut threw frag 'nades through the waves, cutting down enough of them before they reached the barricades to inhibit their overwhelming numbers. The dog leapt at fleshy throats, tearing them open with gusto. He reloaded again, noticing the waves beginning to cease.

Danse shot down the odd straggler running in as the stranger's minigun began powering down. The person inside was still on high alert, pacing along the perimeter, neck twisting slowly in the heavy helm, checking for danger. Danse did the same. When he was sure the threat of attack had dissipated, he turned to the juggernaut. There was no insignia on the power armor. It was an old T-45 suit, which hadn't been issued in the Brotherhood since Elder Sarah Lyons' days. Danse cursed internally. _Maxson still isn't receiving our signals then,_ he decided. As the sun began setting on the horizon, the wasteland was cast in a brilliant, sunburnt-orange haze. The stranger was surveying the carnage, crushing rotted, irradiated skulls under his boots. The dog whined. Wet blood glistened golden in the light, and the stranger flipped his helmet off, finally. Copper hair reflected the sunlight and lit the stranger's head up like fire, almost blinding Danse. The juggernaut wiped a sweaty brow and grinned briefly in his direction, quick, but slow enough for him to register the perfectly straight, white teeth. _The juggernaut's a woman._ Danse stiffened, frown deepening. _And from the looks of her_ _, she's not a local._  

 

"We appreciate the assistance, civilian." Danse scowled. "What's your business here?" The juggernaut didn't seem to mind his obvious hostility. She stroked the fur on the back of the dog's neck soothingly. "I'm just trying to survive out here, like everyone else." Her face was impassive.  

"The way you charged in and engaged those ferals? I find that a bit difficult to believe." He didn't bother to keep the contempt out of his tone. "Are you from a local settlement?"  

"I'm from vault one-eleven." She snapped back at him, and the flash of regret in her grey, almost colorless eyes was hard to miss. Danse allowed himself to feel surprised. 

"You're a _vault-dweller_? Not many people would admit to that. I appreciate your honesty." That remark earned him an eye-roll he probably deserved. "Look, if I appear suspicious, it's because our mission here has been difficult. Since the moment we arrived in the Commonwealth we've been constantly under fire." _I've lost so many good soldiers._ "If you want to continue pitching in, we could use an extra gun on our side." The juggernaut looked over her shoulder, back the way she'd come. The dog whined again, butting his mistress' leg with his head. Her eyes met his, and Danse suddenly felt like _he_ was the one under scrutiny.

"Alright. I'll continue to help. But you owe me an explanation first." Her voice was throaty, not quite musical but with a pleasant cadence. She set her jaw as Danse stared at her, hardening her features.  

"Very well." Danse agreed finally. "I'm Paladin Danse, Brotherhood of Steel. Over there is Scribe Haylen, and Knight Rhys. We're on recon duty, but I'm down a man and our supplies are running low. I've been trying to send a distress call to my superiors, but the signal is too weak to reach them." He sighed, trying and failing to keep the defeat out of his voice.  

 

"Sir? If I may?" Scribe Haylen interrupted.  

"Proceed, Haylen." Danse nodded. 

"I've modified the radio tower on the roof of the police station but I'm afraid it just isn't enough. What we need is something that will boost the signal." Haylen explained. 

"Our target is Arc-Jet Systems, and it contains the technology we need: a deep range transmitter. We infiltrate the facility, secure the transmitter, and bring it back here." He looked down at the woman. "So what do you say? Are you willing to lend the Brotherhood of Steel a hand?" His chance of success increased exponentially with another gun at his back, and he knew it. She would literally be saving his ass again and he'd known her for less than an hour. It was a lot to ask a stranger, and he waited with baited breath. She looked down at her dog. 

"No time to waste then," she replied finally, with a single nod. "Let's get moving." 

"Outstanding." He liked her attitude, he realized. She was definitely _more_ than a regular wastelander. Danse wasn't sure what, but he was sure of that. "Haylen, take Rhys inside and bind his wounds." _God, don't let me lose another man out here,_ he begged silently.  

"Yes sir."  

"Rhys, once you're on your feet, I want you to make certain that the perimeter is secure." 

"I'm on it," the knight huffed impatiently.  

"Alright, _civilian_ ," he turned back to the woman. "It's time to prove your worth. Head into the police station and resupply yourself. Let me know when you're ready to leave. Move out, people." He watched the woman, vaguely tuning out Haylen and Rhys' confusing banter. Not that it was his business, but he thought Rhys had turned Haylen's offer of a relationship down. Rhys had good Brotherhood lineage; a second cousin of Elder Maxson. Worth passing on, but Danse respected the young knight's decision. He couldn't say the same for Haylen, though he thought she was taking it well.  

 

The civilian disappeared into the garage. The power armor rack was down there. She returned to the office in combat fatigues. A ten millimeter, a .50 cal., and a sawn-off shotgun were belted around her waist. Two ammo belts criss-crossed over her chest and the inside of her faded green drifter's trench was lined with grenades. She looked... oddly well-fed, even for a vault dweller. Not fat, but definitely soft around the edges. Her hands were perfectly clean, without the grime of a lifetime in the wasteland. Her almost-porcelain skin bore no blemishes, except for a tiny scar under her lip, curving down her chin that looked fairly old; and the deep, purple circles under her eyes that Danse knew only too well were caused by sleepless nights. She pulled her copper hair back into a tight bun, pinning it to the base of her skull. She loaded her ammo belts with everything she could find, painstakingly clipping each magazine back into place. Danse respected that. Under fire she would need to reload as fast as possible, achieved mostly by knowing exactly what she had restocked, and where. Her eyes met his across the room, and she nodded. "Paladin Danse?"  

"Ready to move out?" He asked. 

"Ready." She agreed. 

"Follow me, and try not to lag behind." He added authoritatively. He put on his helmet and stepped into the humid evening. "We'll take this alley. Follow me, civilian." He headed up the northern alley, the way she had come this afternoon.  

"I understand the ego trips you military types like to go on when it comes to the rest of us _'regular joes_ ', Paladin, and I mean no disrespect, but my name is Adams. Adeline Adams, not that you'll remember my first name, but Adams will do just fine." The dog barked, and Danse bit on his tongue, holding back a stinging retort.  

 

"Adams it is." He responded, without looking at her. "Arc-Jet is a short hike to the west. If we take this road, we should be able to avoid the larger packs of ferals that infest Cambridge. Travelling this far from the police station is a risk, but getting that transmitter up and running needs to be our top priority." Danse had no idea why he was running his mouth in front of this woman, who remained silent and uncaring, possibly not even listening, but he had to admit privately that her presence was comforting, even if she _had_ left her power armor behind. "If it was up to me, I'd relocate my team, but Scribe Haylen detected some disturbing energy readings in the area that need to be investigated. We don't know much about them, except that they're short lived, and broadcast on a frequency only available with a high level of technology. We're concerned that whoever or whatever is creating those energy readings might be a potential threat, so it's our job to investigate."

Adams threw out her hand in front of him, and his eyes focused on the vaguely threatening figures materializing in the dusky haze in front of them. _Raiders._ Adams took out the closest one with two shots to the chest and began aiming at a third. The dog sprang ahead, barrelling into another. Danse fired four rapid shots, three hits and a miss. He cursed. "We may have a problem here," he announced unnecessarily. A raider dissolved into a silvery ash cloud and he managed to get a headshot at the last one.  

"Good boy, Dogmeat!" Adams exclaimed, wrapped her arms around the dog. It barked, and stood on its' hind legs, paws touching her shoulders. "No kisses!" She scolded him affectionately, batting away his face with her elbow. The dog returned to four legs, and Danse realized just how small Adams actually was. She couldn't be any taller than about five foot. There were _squires_ bigger than her, and yet he felt completely at ease with her watching his back. She threw the dog a strip of jerky and they ploughed on. 

 

"It might surprise you, but my recon team isn't the first to visit the Commonwealth. Over the last seven years, two other teams have been sent here by the Brotherhood to gather technology. The first team's mission was a huge success. They came back with crates full of pre-War artifacts and historical documents. The second wasn't so fortunate. Shortly after they arrived we lost contact with them. They haven't been heard from since. As far as my team goes, we've lost four good men to this God-forsaken wasteland." Danse couldn’t hide the bitterness in his voice. "We've been a target from the moment we arrived. But, despite our setbacks, I don't intend to give up and head home. Or end up missing."

Adams nodded sagely at him, not offering a response. She paused to take out two bloatflies with impeccable precision. The shots caught the attention of a pack of feral dogs, raising the hackles on Dogmeat's back. "No mercy!" Danse cried, as the dogs began to explode in silvery ash clouds around him. Adams reached out a hand, letting the ashes fall between her fingers interestedly. He wondered if she had ever seen a laser rifle before. They walked in companionable (Danse thought) silence the rest of the way. "There it is. Arc-Jet Systems. There shouldn't be any exterior security, so we'll head in through the front." He paused outside the main doors. 

"Paladin?" Adams deferred politely. 

"Listen up. We do this clean and quiet. No heroics and by the book. Understood?" 

Adams shrugged. "Understood." 

"Outstanding. Remember, our primary target is the deep range transmitter. Stay focused and check your fire. I don't want to be hit by stray bullets." Danse doubted he would have that problem with Adams, but felt the need to remind her who was in charge. 

 

They breached the door easily. _Too easily._ "It was corporations like this that were the last nail in the coffin for mankind." Danse looked around him, disgusted. Adams gave him an odd look, almost offended, but not quite. "They exploited technology for their own gain, pocketing the cash and ignoring the damage they'd done." They moved on from the foyer, into a room filled with broken protectron parts. "Look at these wrecks. It appears as though the facility's automated security has already been dealt with." He tensed up. 

"I see that." Adams tiptoed up to a fallen unit. 

"Damnit. I was hoping to avoid this." Danse swore. Dove-grey eyes met his curiously. "Look at the evidence. There isn't a single spent ammunition casing or drop of blood in sight. These robots were assaulted by Institute synths." 

"What's the Institute?" She asked.  

"They're a group of scientists who went underground when the Great War started. Spent the last few decades littering the Commonwealth with their technological nightmares." 

Adams looked uncomfortable. Danse wondered how she had lived this long without hearing about the Institute. Vault one-eleven must be particularly sheltered. Come to think of it, he'd never seen a record of it in the Brotherhood archives. "Synth..." She rolled the word around in her mouth. "Isn't that the same as robot?"  

"They're an abuse of technology created by the Institute. Abominations. Meant to improve upon humanity," Danse replied scathingly. "It's unacceptable. They simply can't be allowed to exist."  

Adams shivered. "I'll be on the lookout." She told him softly. 

"Roger that. Let's move out." 

 

"This place is a mess," Danse announced. "I still see a few pieces of salvage that the Brotherhood might be interested in. After we're done here, I'll mark this place for a sweep and retrieve." Adams shadowed him as they crept through the facility. Corridors were winding and they had to backtrack a few times. Finally they found a room with locked access. _Looks promising,_ Danse thought. "Looks like a dead end," he told her over his shoulder. "See if you can find a way to get that door open. I'm going to reconnoiter the area." He flicked his headlamp on. He could hear Adams tapping away at one of the terminals, humming Johnny Mercer's _Personality_ quietly, in a manner Danse didn't find unpleasant. Dogmeat whined at the locked door, and Danse stepped up to it, curious. Something caught his eye in one of the windows, disappearing in a flash. A feeling he easily identified as unease spread over him. Adams huffed impatiently, moving to the next terminal. She began tapping away again, an abject frown on her face, until he heard a distinct _ping_ sound. Her eyes turned up at the corners with a smug air. "I got in!" She congratulated herself, resuming typing.  

The door hissed behind Danse as the maglocks released. "Nice work. Let's get moving." 

"Movement detected." An unmistakably electronic voice interrupted him.  

Danse felt his blood run cold. "It's an ambush!" He called to Adams, raising his weapon. He brought four synths down, and turned to face his companion. Her .50 caliber rifle was pointed directly between his eyes. Her eyes were panicked. "What the f-"

Adams fired, and Danse felt the shot _whizz_ past his ear. He twisted on his heel as the synth slumped to the ground, shock baton rolling away. Adams exhaled with relief.  

"I think you missed one," she choked, covering her mouth with her hands. Anger flared in Danse's chest. He'd never been that careless in his life.  

"Standing down," he muttered, lowering his rifle. "You saved my life. I thought you were going to kill me." He looked down at Adams, who was burying her face in Dogmeat's fur.  

 

"Don't flatter yourself." She replied tonelessly, standing up. Color was returning to her face, slowly. They encountered more synths down the next corridor, and Danse took the lead. Dogmeat bounded ahead as well, knocking synths off their feet as he wound around them, making the automatons easy kills. When they found themselves in another wide open room, Adams stepped up behind him so they were back to back. She reloaded her clip and Danse relaxed his spine. They took down synth after synth in sync, and he made a mental note to commend her on her teamwork when they finally got out of here. "Damn synths have compromised most of the facility," Danse muttered angrily, glaring at the rubble as if it was it's own fault. "Remain vigilant. We've got turrets ahead." He called over his shoulder. 

"Affirmative," Adams called back and Danse grinned in spite of himself. He was glad his helmet hid his face, at any rate, though Dogmeat looked up at him suspiciously. Danse growled as a laser from a turret hit his shoulder front on. It took four shots to take it out, and Adams took out the second one over his shoulder. He was glad of her precise aim. The corridors dragged them deeper into the facility.  

"Engine core is ahead," Danse let Adams know. "Should be our final stop." He held open the door for her. "Watch your footing. Looks like the power is out in this section." His headlamp and the light from her PipBoy lit up the corridor ahead of them, and they stepped out onto a viewing platform. Adams gasped. "Look at this place," Danse gazed at the rocket in awe. "Scribes'd have a field day in here." He looked down over the railing. "The transmitter should be in the control room at the top of the core, but the elevators are dead. We'll have to take the long way down for now." Danse lead the way. "We should be able to find a way to get the facility's power back online. There has to be a power back-up system somewhere." They reached the bottom, and Adams gazed up into the tail of the rocket. Danse gestured to the door behind her. "Scout the maintenance area off of the main chamber," he ordered. "I'll remain here and watch our backs."  

 

"Hostile targets must be destroyed." A cold, automated voice echoed through the chamber. Synths began swarming down the stairs towards them, some leaping over the railings. Laser rifles fired. Adams cried out in pain, and Danse saw the fresh laser burns crossing her upper thigh as she buckled at the knees. "Get out of here!" He ordered, turning to the onslaught. She scrambled to her feet and made a beeline for maintenance, and sealed the maglocks behind her. The synths didn't stop coming. For every one he brought down, two more seemed to replace it and he was in danger of being overwhelmed. He saw Adams' pale face behind the leaded glass, despair and panic written all over her face. She glanced up at the rocket, and back to him, and his heart leapt. _Do it,_ he begged her silently. _My power_ _armo_ _r_ _should keep me alive, if nothing else_. A slender hand reached for the red button on the wall beside her.  **"Commencing five second countdown."** A cool, oddly suave voice played over the intercom. Danse kept firing into the swarm. Adams eyes were glued to him from behind the glass. **"Five... four... three... two... one... engine firing."** Danse dropped his weapon and took a knee.

The rocket shuddered to life.

_Fire._ All he could see was fire. He closed his eyes, and embraced the heat. It felt like walking on the sun in power armor. It felt like standing at ground zero when the bombs were dropped. It felt like an eternity. **"Test firing completed with an efficiency rating of ninety six point seven percent** **."** The stilted voice announced in his ear.  

"Oh my God." Someone released his helmet. Adams anxious face appeared in his, and her soft hands brushed ash from his face. "Are you alright?" Her voice was hitched with panic. 

"Got... cooked by the flames," Danse coughed, spitting up ash. "But thanks to my power armor I'm still in one piece. The important thing is that we're still alive. We have a way to get to the transmitter." Adams helped him to his feet. He felt suddenly beyond grateful for her presence. She walked him slowly to the elevator, and he took note of her limp. The burns on her leg were deep, but not bleeding. _Such are the benefits of close-_ _range cauterisation,_ he figured. "Let's go," he told her weakly.  

 

The elevator was tiny, and the three of them were pressed up against each other. Adams' hair right under his nose was mildly intoxicating. Danse suspected he was just grateful to be alive. The elevator _ping_ ed open at the top. Danse held out his hand, catching Adams' waist. She looked up at him, eyebrow raised. "Do you hear that?" He asked quietly. She shook her head. 

"Hostile sensor reading detected," synth voices were unmistakable.  

"We’ve got company," Danse hissed, sprinting forward. The joints on his armor creaked in protest. They took the synths out together. "Damn it, I don't see the device anywhere." He was getting impatient. Adams went through the synth remains, finally holding it up. He sighed with relief. "Let's get out of here. We'll take the service elevator to the surface."They rode up in silence, and Danse watched Adams peel away her jeans and cut off the fabric with an old combat knife. She injected a stimpack into her femoral artery with a soft _hiss_ , closing her eyes. His power armor was still uncomfortably warm. At the top, he peered out into the night. "The bunker looks clear. Let's move out." They headed out, and Danse paused at the gate. Adams looked at him expectantly. "Well, that could have gone smoother," he admitted. "But, mission accomplished." 

"I thought we worked well as a team." Adams shrugged, changing her magazine. 

"Agreed. It's a refreshing change to work with a civilian who can follow orders properly." He hesitated. "That being said, I believe we have two important matters to discuss. First and foremost, if you'll hand me the deep range transmitter I'd like to compensate you for your assistance during this operation." _And saving my life, twice._ "I think you'll find this weapon useful." He handed it out to her, somewhat reluctantly. "It's... my own, _personal_ , modification of the standard Brotherhood laser rifle." Adams gave him the transmitter, and felt the weight of Righteous Authority. It looked enormous in her small hands, and he watched her feel it over, almost lovingly, with mixed emotions. "May it serve you well." His throat felt tight.  

 

She looked up at him, respect in her gaze, and Danse swallowed. "Thank you," she breathed, a tiny smile curling the corners of her mouth up.  

"You're welcome, civilian. Now, as far as the second matter goes, I wanted to make you a proposal." He took a breath. Adams' eyebrows shot up. "We had a lot thrown at us back there. Our op could have ended in disaster, but you kept your cool and handled it like a soldier. There's no doubt in my mind that you've got what it takes. The way I see it, you've got a choice. You can spend the rest of your life wandering from place to place, trading an extra hand for a meager reward, or you could join the Brotherhood of Steel and make your mark on the world." Adams face was unreadable again. "So, what do you say?" 

Adams looked at the ground, and back up. Her hand rested on Dogmeat's neck. "I'd be honored to join." She said gruffly.  

"That's what I wanted to hear." _It really is,_ Danse realized, relieved. "Meet me back at the police station, and we'll discuss the details." Adams nodded, and headed off down the road. Dogmeat sneezed at him, and sprinted off down the road ahead of his mistress, pink tongue lolling out of his mouth. Danse exhaled, wondering if he had just made his life easier or more complicated, and set off back towards Cambridge, noticing, for the first time in a long time, that his head felt completely clear. He wondered if he might even get a decent night's sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I know Danse gets portrayed a lot as the awkward, strong, silent type. That wasn't my experience in-game at all. He struggles emotionally, I think, but when you're dragging him around the Commonwealth with you he never shuts up. He's always got an opinion on everything, does Paladin Danse. And he's funny! He makes me laugh sometimes, not as much as MacCready or Codsworth, but he's always insightful and pretty on-the-mark. 
> 
> I think he'd have to be really, really intelligent to get as far as he did in the Brotherhood of Steel. Which has always been a massive personal turn-on for me, there's nothing as sexy as a man who's got his shit together. Adeline is still coming out of her shell here. I had a bit of a hard time because I'd already been writing her as a quick-witted, intelligent, interesting woman and when I wrote this piece I had to take a step back because here, she's still broody, and grieving for her husband. She's still not 100% about the whole Commonwealth thing. 
> 
> If you want a little personal perspective, as Adeline and Danse are walking to Arc-Jet, the entire time she is thinking, wow, does this guy ever shut up? As for her height, she's short because I'm short. I'm four foot eleven and twenty-three years old. Let me tell you that was a rough rejection to the military, even after attempting to lie about my height. They always check! If I knew what it felt like to have to look down at people, I might write about tall women, but that is a fantasy I will never ever be able to relate to.


End file.
